


Crap I have to name this thing?

by ririrodriguez



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 22:37:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ririrodriguez/pseuds/ririrodriguez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam, here's your fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crap I have to name this thing?

**Author's Note:**

> I need constructive criticism, but this is my first fic so be gentle. Thanks for reading this POS!

At exactly 5:30, John Watson woke up. It had been a routine for countless years, and he no longer needed an alarm. His early start was another reminder of his drudging life as a soldier.

“ _But all of that’s changed now,”_ He thought to himself as he turned on the shower.

“ _All because of that mad bastard.”_ John was both perturbed, and overjoyed at this idea.

            As he washed, John pondered at the new course of his life, and the unexpected turn he had taken. And to think it all began with something as simple as a new flatmate.

            Sherlock woke to the sound of the kettle screaming. He groaned, and slowly slid out of bed, pulling on his dressing gown. The lanky man yawned and walked out into the sitting room.

“Good morning,” chirped John with a smile. He was sitting at the table with an omelet and a steaming cup of tea, across a spot set for Sherlock.

“You made breakfast,” observed the taller man.

“Yes, and I believe now is when you thank me kindly,” retorted the doctor as he took a sip of tea, and opened the newspaper.

            Sherlock sat down and took a sip of tea.

“Thank you,” he said hesitantly, testing the words out on his lips. Johns hand slowly lowered to the table,, taking the newspaper with them. He stared at the detective, his brow furrowed.

“What?” Sherlock asked, defensively.

“You’re… welcome,” John replied, quick to straighten his face and lift the paper again. They sat for a few minutes in silence, except for the scraping of utensils and the rustle of the paper.

            “John”

“Yes Sherlock?” Without looking away from the paper, the good doctor began to make deductions of his own. Sherlock rarely started conversations, and when he did so politely, he wanted something.

“I was wondering if I could possibly ask you…”

            “ _He’s using 3 syllable words. Probably beating around the bush, or babying me. He thinks that whatever he’s about to ask me might end badly… I swear if he asks me to lift the ban on body parts in the fridge-_ “

            “Have you ever been in love John?”

            The doctor was speechless. With a comical look on his face, he sat staring at the detective for a full 30 seconds.

“Well?” prodded Sherlock. After regaining his composure, John responded.

“Sherlock, normal people don’t just go around asking-“ the other man cut him off.

“Do not lie to me John, I know they do.”

            John knew it too. He recalled a dimly lit night at the pub with Greg. They were both wasted, and Greg had just finished ranting about he wife’s multiple affairs. After a few minutes of staring off into space forlornly, the detective inspector had asked John about his own experiences with love.

            Or, that one late night at the lab, on which John caught Molly staring at Sherlock with puppy dog eyes.

“Have you ever been in love?” She had asked him dreamily.

            “Hello?” Forced back to reality by Sherlock’s sultry voice, John realized that he should probably answer the detective’s question.

“Yes,” John paused. “The answer is yes.”

“Could you, perhaps, tell me what it felt like?” Sherlock inquired, as if he was afraid he had gone too far.

            _How it felt? How do I begin to explain_ love _to Sherlock Holmes?!_

John sighed and rubbed his temples.

            _It’s too early for my head to hurt like this. Bloody hell, why does he care? Shit, I might as well answer._

“Sherlock, love hurts. It makes your chest ache, just to look at that person, and when you touch them, your brain goes blank. It can be a brush of your fingertips against theirs as you hand them a pen that makes you stutter, and panic. You can try to shake your head to clear it, but that person will never leave. They are in your mind constantly, like a desktop background. Whenever another tab isn’t open, whenever you aren’t putting all of you attention to something else, they are there in your mind, staring at you.” John said all of this restlessly, as if he had to get it all out while he still could, and as he spoke his eyes slowly glazed over while he revisited these memories.

“John, did this person hurt you? The person you were in love with?” The detective asked softly, as his eyes rose to meet John’s.

“After she found out I was interested, we dated for a while. Then she dumped me for some lad on the rugby team.” John shrugged his shoulders indifferently.

“How did you feel when she dumped you?”

            John smiled sarcastically and raised his gaze to meet Sherlock’s.

            “It felt as if she had reached her hand inside of my ribcage, tore my heart out, threw it on the floor, and kicked it across the room.” John kept the humorless smile on his face as he finished his analogy, one that even Sherlock had to refrain from wincing at.

“Why are you so curious about this anyways?” John asked quizzically, back behind his newspaper again.

            Sherlock paused a moment before answering, unsure of himself.

“I believe that I am in love.”

John stared at him incredulously.

"With WHOM?!"

"With you, John."


End file.
